


Just Hurry Lassie, please.

by laurencathryn



Category: Psych
Genre: Caring Lassie, Hurt Shawn, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-06-20 00:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15521670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurencathryn/pseuds/laurencathryn
Summary: When trailing a perp goes wrong, Shawn is left in the middle of a dark alley, bloody and broken. Needing help, he calls the only person he can think of. That someone just happens to be a certain Carlton Lassiter.





	1. Chapter 1

“Shit!” Shawn Spencer exclaimed into the darkness of night in an abandoned alley in the town of Santa Barbara. It had been a typical Tuesday night, he had gone out to dinner with his Dad, before deciding to tail one of the leads on his new case--Gus was gone this week for a conference in San Francisco, so it was just Shawn working the cases this time. 

He had expected tonight to go fairly easily, get a few pictures of the perp, solve the case, and go get some sleep before dramatically revealing how he had solved it at the station the next morning. What he hadn’t worked into the schedule was the lead figuring out he was being trailed, and coming over to confront Shawn as to what the hell he was doing. 

Long story short, one very painful thing led to another, and now Shawn was laying on the ground, bloody and broken, trying to figure out what in the actual hell he was going to do now. 

Everything hurt, from the tops of his toes to the tips of his honey brown hair that was now matted in blood. Somewhere in the confrontation the guy had pulled out a vodka bottle from the dumpster, and had hit him in the side of the head, hard. He only meant to knock Shawn out, but what he hadn’t planned on was the bottle being broken, and instead of being used as a blunt object, being used as a sharp one.

The bottle had been half full, and the neck of it had been shattered into sharp fragments. When the bottle had made contact, it had managed to rip into Shawn’s eyebrow, all the way down to the bridge of his nose, barely missing his eye. 

The vodka still in the bottle however, had no such luck. Shawn had barely had time to register the bottle cutting into his skin before the remaining liquid poured into his eye, causing him to scream in pain, because shit, that stuff burns.

After both men had realized what had happened, the perp took off, leaving Shawn on the ground, alone, bleeding sluggishly down his face. That's the predicament that Shawn was in now. 

He wasn’t delirious, or out of it from the blow, which was both surprising, and a punishment, because it meant he was so delightfully aware of all the pinpricks of sharp pain radiating from his whole body. He was beginning to panic, but he forced himself to calm down, making a mental list of what he knew at the moment. 

1\. He was hurt, badly, but not critically. He knew from his dad’s police training that head wounds bleed extensively, but aren’t life threatening. Damn you, vascular veins. 

2\. He was alone, but he was aware of his surroundings and knew where he was.

3\. He needed to call someone, now. He didn’t want to call his Dad, he wasn’t in a mood to get lectured right now. He couldn’t call Jules, she would coddle too much, and insist they go to the doctor. He didn’t need the doctor, he just needed to be left alone, but somewhere safe. He also needed some alcohol. Lots of it. 

As he thought of this, an idea popped into his head, and he quickly pulled pulled out his phone, deciding to dial the number, because he needed to get out of this alley, and quick. 

He dialed, and then waited for the person on the other line to pick up. They did, on the 2nd ring to be exact. Even though the voice was gruff and angry from being woken up at--Shawn glanced at his phone clock-- two in the morning, he swore it was the best thing he had ever heard in his whole entire life.

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing calling me at 2:23 in the morning? Someone has to be either dead or dying, or I’m hanging up at this instant.” Shawn smiled as the gruff voice of a certain Detective Lassiter cut through the silence of the night, and slowly raised the receiver to his mouth.

“Lassie! I need a favor.” Shawn said evenly as he managed to subdue a wince caused by accidently hitting his head against the dumpster he was currently leaning on. “Spencer, I swear to God, if this is some stupid prank, I will cut you.” 

Shawn could hear the rustling of sheets from the other line, as if he was getting out of bed. “Too late Lassie, I’m afraid someone beat you to it.” He paused, trying to blink away some of the blood that was currently invading his vision. “That’s kind of what I need your help with right now.”  
He managed to finish weakly. 

His voice no doubt sounded raspy and hurt right now, but Shawn didn’t mind. If it helped sell the state that he was in right now to Lassiter, then he didn’t mind one bit. “Spen-Shawn? What the hell do you mean? Where are you?” Lassiter seemed almost...worried, but Shawn wrote it off as his overactive nerves going haywire at the moment.

“I’m at the corner of Holly and Campbell, just--” he stopped, as he was hit with a random burst of pain, causing him to release a not so subtle gasp. “--Just hurry, Lassie, please.” he managed to say before dropping the phone on the ground and laying his head against the cold, hard metal of the dumpster, in a failed attempt to try to get himself put somewhat together before Lassie showed up. 

As a way to calm down, he used his observation skills to try and concentrate on memorizing the graffiti on the wall in front of him. What a shame that his hearing wasn’t as advanced as his memory, or else he would have heard Lassiter’s panicked attempts to regain Shawn’s attention again from the other line, and the string of anxiety caused swearing when he failed to.

What a shame indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassie POV

What a shame that his hearing wasn’t as advanced as his memory, or else he would have heard Lassiter’s panicked attempts to regain Shawn’s attention again from the other line, and the string of anxiety caused swearing when he failed to.

What a shame indeed. 

LASSIE POV 

It had been a normal day in Santa Barbara for Detective Carlton Lassiter. He had closed a case, gotten a lead on another, and had been given a case by Chief alongside his partner, and a certain Shawn Spencer. Since Guster was out of town this week on a business trip, it meant that Spencer was working the case alone, which Lassiter didn’t approve one bit. Worried that Spencer was going to get himself into some sticky situation alone, Lassiter had basically stuck by Spencer’s side the entire day, only parting when it was time for the younger man to go to his dads for dinner. 

He had gone to bed slightly worried about the younger man, worrying that he would go and try to trail their main lead by himself, in the disguise of the night. Little did he know that in a couple hours time, his fears would come to life. 

\--a couple hours later--

Lassiter groaned as a loud ringing broke through the peaceful silence of his apartment, and fumbled around in the dark to find the source of the dreadful noise. He finally located his phone on the floor next to his bed, and rushed to silence it, falling off the bed in the process. When he finally grabbed hold of his phone, he flipped it open quickly, frustrated that he was woken up at such an ungodly hour. 

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing calling me at 2:23 in the morning? Someone has to be either dead or dying, or I’m hanging up this instant.” he said with anger in his voice, very much still annoyed that the man had woken him up from his slumber. He heard a raspy breathing from the other end of the line, and tiny inklings of fear began to trickle up his chest as he waited for a response. “Lassie!” he heard finally from the other end of the call, “I need a favor.” 

Lassiter decided that the younger man sounded fine, he had gotten scared over nothing, and felt the anger return almost as quickly as it had left. “Spencer, I swear to God if this is some stupid prank, I will cut you.” he said, trying to keep his voice even. He decided that he was already awake, thanks to Spencer, and slowly got up from the floor, tossing his blankets on the bed, and getting dressed while he waited for the man’s response. 

“Too late Lassie, I’m afraid someone beat you to it.” finally came the man’s response. Lassie immediately noticed that Shawn’s tone of voice had changed drastically, the hint of childish mirth completely gone, and laced with pain. The worry that he had felt earlier had instantly come back, hitting him with full force. He was about to say something when Shawn’s voice cut through the tense silence, broken and raspy and hurt. “That’s kind of what I need your help with right now.” he finished with a hint of defeat in his voice. 

The worry he was feeling had only grown in the past few minutes, and Lassiter felt as if his heart was going to explode in his chest from how much it utterly hurt to hear Shawn like that. 

He made a choice almost as soon as Shawn had said those words, and quickly scuttled around to find his clothes. “Spen-Shawn? He said, deciding that he if was going to throw himself down the rabbit hole, he might as well jump right in by using the man’s real name. “What the hell do you mean? Where are you?” He asked quickly, not caring if he seemed desperate, or if the worry was bleeding into his words, he just didn’t care. He just wanted Shawn safe above anything. 

Shawn seemed to pause for a moment at the other end of the line, but responded nonetheless. “I’m at the corner of Holly and Campbell, just--” the man suddenly gasped in no doubtedly pain, but managed to continue despite it, “just hurry, Lassie, please.” and just like that, the phone crackled a bit like it had been dropped, and went silent. 

Lassiter called Shawn’s name a few times, even yelled at one point, in a vain attempt to get the man’s attention again. When he failed to do so, he let out a string of curses that would make his grandmother blush, grabbed his keys and ran like hell towards his car, not even bothering to lock his door. The drive to Holly and Campbell was 15 minutes to his house, but Carlton managed to get there in six.

Once he got there, he pulled over onto the street side and began calling out Shawn’s name, whilst looking around for the familiar honey-haired man. Just when he thought he was going to explode from the intense worry he was feeling, he noticed movement in one of the alleys between two businesses. He ran over to identify what it was, and was shocked by the sight that met him once he got there. 

Shawn was leaning against a dirty dumpster, covered in blood, staring at graffiti on the wall across from him. His breathing was uneven, a fact that concerned Lassiter only more, and he didn’t even seem to register that Lassiter was standing there. Figuring that he was still in shock, Lassiter slowly knelt down next to him, and began to access the damage. 

There was a large gash going from his eyebrow to his nose, but his face seemed otherwises undamaged. It was bleeding like a bitch, but Lassiter expected that from a head wound like this. Other than that, Shawn looked okay, and not in immediate danger. Needing to get Shawn out of this godforsaken alley and cleaned up, Lassiter went into the gentlest voice he could muster, and softly grabbed Shawn’s jaw, pushing his face towards him, to make Shawn look at him. Once they made eye contact, Shawn visibly relaxed once he realized that it was Lassiter, a fact that he refused to read much into.  
“‘..ssie?” Shawn murmured incoherently when he saw him, reaching his hand out to grab onto the man’s tie. “Hey, Shawn. Let's get you home hmm?” Lassiter said as sweetly as he could, not wanting to rile up the younger man any more. “Y’s pl’se” came the slurred response from the pseudo psychic. 

Bracing himself against Shawn’s weight, he snuck two strong arms around the younger man and unceremoniously pulled him up, half carrying-half dragging him to the passenger seat of his car, dropping him gently into the seat, buckling him up, and shutting the door, before racing back to the driver's seat. 

If during the drive back to Lassiter’s place Shawn’s head had found its way onto his shoulder, or his hand entwined with Lassiter’s, or if Lassiter had placed a tender kiss on the psychic's forehead, then he wasn’t mad at all. Not one bit. If this is what his life could be every day, without the blood, or the vodka, but with him and Shawn, just enjoying each other’s company, then Lassie could find himself being happy. 

He could see himself being in love. 

Home. 

And as long at he had Shawn by his side, that didn’t scare him one bit.


End file.
